Maybe Baby (2000)
Sheila: Well Mr. Phipps, you are in perilous danger of turning me back into a heterosexual.
Lucy Bell: [writes in her diary] Carl Phipps came into work today all brooding and Byronic. He looked like the dispossessed lord of a bleak Mooreland estate. I swear his aftershave smelled of heather.
Ewan Proclaimer: Isn't that amazing? Grown men and women that have to be taught how to use a hypodermic needle. It's extraordinary.
Lucy Bell: [reading] Samuel Bell: sperm test. 30% sluggish.
Sam Bell: Sluggish? Is that the word they use?
Sam Bell: Well, couldn't they have found a nicer way of putting it? Like relaxed or unhurried? Relaxed, laid back sperm I can handle, but sluggish?
Lucy Bell: Motility poor.
Sam Bell: Oh, that is just an outrageous slur!
Lucy Bell: 41% swimming in the wrong direction.
Sam Bell: They're in a plastic pot! How are they supposed to know what the right direction is?
Ewan Proclaimer: This stuff is great... but it occurs to me that we might be missing out on some comedy. What if Rachel's fertility meds gets mixed in with Colin's drug stash and she injects that instead?
Sam Bell: [sarcastically] Yes, that would be good, except, damn! Colin doesn't take drugs.
Ewan Proclaimer: What do you think?
Sam Bell: Honestly, with the disappearance of the rainforests, I thought it was ecologically unsound for him to turn in such a wooden performance. Anal, repressed, and uptight.
Ewan Proclaimer: Exactly! A totally convincing Englishman.
Sam Bell: [singing] I've my sperm test tomorrow and my pot is on the shelf. I've got my sperm test tomorrow and my pot is on the shelf. I'm gonna have to go in, sit down, and abuse myself.
Lucy Bell: [about Sam's sperm test] Conclusion...
Sam Bell: I've got slack, stupid sperm. That's the bloody conclusion. The stuff's been dawdling back up my dick all these years, bumping into each other, getting their abnormal tails tangled.
George: [of Dave the comedian] Is he getting better or have I finally lost the will to resist?
Mr. James: Mr. Puter here is a medical student. You don't mind if he observes, do you?
Lucy Bell: [voice-over] Oh, no there's nothing I like more than a gormless, adolescent youth peering into my splayed vagina!
Lucy Bell: No, not at all.
Mr. James: [completing a gynecological exam] Try to relax if you can, Lucy.
Lucy Bell: [voice-over] Stick a traffic cone up your arse mate and see if you can relax.
Lucy Bell: I will try.
Sam Bell: Lucy, if I have to serve a life sentence for what I did, can't I at least serve it with you?
Lucy Bell: Is that a line from your new screen play?
Sam Bell: No... well yes, but I still mean it.
Sam Bell: [seeing each other for the first time in months] You look wonderful.
Lucy Bell: You look like Rasputin.
Nimnh: [as Rachel during rehearsals] You're lucky, you don't even want children.
Carl Phipps: [as Colin during rehearsals] Not children in the abstract sense, no. But as a part of you, as an expression and extension of our love, I want that more than I can say. And if we don't have one, well then that's all right too, because our love will be no less whole.
Lucy Bell: I hope Dick and Debbie know what I'm going through for them.
Sam Bell: Well, you can tell them some day.
Lucy Bell: There's only a one in five chance.
Sam Bell: Lucy, any child of yours would be one in a million.
Druscilla: [performing a fertility ritual while Lucy giggles] Womb, womb. Stop laughing. Flow, flow.
Man Wrestling for Cab: I am in a hurry. I have some very important meetings.
Sam Bell: Yeah, well I've got some sperm up my arse and it's dying!
George: Sam, sperm is like flatulence. It's different when it's your own.
Mr. James: You are what is medically known as non-specifically infertile. Or to give it its full scientific description, we do not have a bloody clue.
Sam Bell: Lucy and I have to have a post-coital compatability test. Which means having it off and having a doctor look at the aftermath.
George: Why would you imagine I would want to know that?
Ewan Proclaimer: "Sick Junkie" is a comedy about a group of normal, ordinary kids - all heroin addicts, of course. Possibly Welsh, maybe Irish, probably Scottish. We see a week in their ordinary, mundane lives. They inject heroin into their eyeballs. They have babies in toilets. They get AIDS. They try and raise veins on their private parts in order to inject more heroin. They kill a social worker. They have anal sex in exchange for heroin, which turns out to be cut with bleach, and kills them. They have abortions. They're raped by gangs of English policemen.
Sam Bell: [interrupting] Excuse me. Um, I just want to make sure I'm following this... This is a comedy we're discussing, is it?
Ewan Proclaimer: It's total comedy. But real comedy about what's actually happening to kids today. Not escapist English crap.